


I'll Take You Home

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: It's been three days since Jim last saw Artemus, and for Jim, that's three days too long. All he wants is to find his partner and bring him home.





	I'll Take You Home

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: bodily functions, some language, no sexual situations
> 
> so uh this is my first foray into this fandom! I've recently gotten into Wild Wild West, and I'm very excited to contribute to the fandom. I hope everyone enjoys this first fic, and I welcome any *constructive* criticism anyone has :)

Three days. It’s been three days since Jim last saw Artemus, or more accurately, since Artemus was snatched off the street at gunpoint. Jim doesn’t know why this happened, and after the first day, he stopped caring. He just wants Artemus back.

He’s tracked his partner to an old farmhouse, one that was once grand and beautiful but has since fallen into disrepair. Shingles hang from holes in the roof. The outer door swings loosely on its hinges. Shutters dangle upside down from broken windows. _Someone wealthy used to live here but not for a long time now._ Inside the house, Jim sees empty liquor bottles and food waste, signs someone’s been using it for a hideout though no one seems to be here now. If Artemus is still here, he’s here alone.

“Artemus!” he calls, “Artie, are you here?”

There’s no response. Jim forces the worst-case scenario from his mind, his stomach rolling forcefully at the thought of Artemus being dead. _They probably put him in the cellar._ The door is predictably locked and predictably easy to unlock.

The smell is horrendous, half-convincing Jim his partner is long dead before he recognizes the smell isn’t rotting flesh. His stomach rolls again. Artemus is strung up by one arm, bare feet just touching the earthen floor, unable to reach his bound wrist. He looks limp. His normally tan face is ashen, his brown eyes now dull, his clothing filthy with sweat and worse. He doesn’t even look up when Jim descends the steps.

_Oh, Artemus…_ The men who kidnapped Artemus must have strung him up down here and forgotten about him. Down here, there are no signs of food and drink, no empty bottles or crumbs or bones. Artemus’ chapped lips are first proof he’s had nothing to drink in a long time. Proof he’s been stuck in one spot comes from his lower half. Even without new food and drink, the body still wants to expel waste, and the stench of urine and feces hangs in the air. Jim’s chest clenches painfully. Artemus’ cheek is cool and dry when Jim cups it, fear twisting his gut.

“Artie… Artie, it’s Jim. C’mon, wake up… Wake up, Artie…”

He blinks once, twice, slowly turns his gaze on Jim, and his lips part silently. Jim’s thumb absently strokes over his cheek, and he says, “Listen, Artie, I need to go find something to stand on to get you down, okay? Then we can get outta here. I won’t be long.”

A quiet whine leaves Artemus’ cracked lips. Jim simply strokes his cheek, promises again, “I won’t be far away,” and hurries to complete his task. Thankfully, there’s a few empty barrels nearby, so he drags one over and climbs up to free Artemus. Jim keeps a good hold on his forearm, not wanting to further injure the shoulder joint. Artemus gives a hoarse cry when his wrist flops free. The joint is swollen, the skin broken and irritated. His elbow and shoulder joints won’t be much better. Jim is loath to hurt his partner and friend, but he’s going to have to hurt him to heal him. He bites back a sigh.

“Artie, I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt. I promise I’ll give you some morphine when we get back to the Wanderer. I don’t-… I’m sorry.”

The older man screws his eyes shut, teeth bared in a grimace as Jim slowly manipulates his arm down to his side. He’s obviously trying not to cry out again, and Jim suspects that if he weren’t so dehydrated, Artemus would be crying. _My poor Artemus…_ Once Artemus’ arm is down, Jim sets to work on the next issue.

All of Artemus’ clothes are filthy and soiled, and they all have to go because the only thing they’re doing now is trapping the filth against Artemus’ body. His vest and shirt are simple to remove, Jim’s fingers easily slipping the buttons through their holes. Artemus doesn’t move or speak, only loosing a low whine when his bad shoulder is touched. The trousers are another matter. Swallowing his rage at Artemus being treated so, Jim leans him against the barrel he’d stood on and kneels down, pulling out a knife.

“Jim…”

It’s the first word he’s said, his voice rasping and harsh. He tries to push Jim away, reaching to unbutton his trousers with one hand. Jim swats it away.

“Artie, don’t exert yourself. Besides, if you think we can somehow save these trousers, you’re more full of shit than they are,” Jim tells him.

The harsh noise Artemus makes sounds like it could be a laugh. Jim counts it as a win. He makes quick work of the soiled trousers, cutting fabric as efficiently as a tailor. The stench of feces intensifies once the trousers are discarded. The two men are used to being naked around one another, all part of living in close quarters and riding the trail and tending each other’s wounds. Jim knows the stories behind almost every one of his friend’s scars, either because he was there or because Artemus told him the story.

Jim’s eyes scan Artemus’ frame, trying to assess his injuries. He’s slightly thicker than Jim, muscles not as well defined, but that’s what makes him a good master of disguise. He looks like an average man. The bruises scattering Artemus’ torso look painful, but there doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage beneath them. There are two old scars Jim doesn’t know the story behind: a thin line crossing his left hipbone and a puckered circle near his right nipple that matches one on his back. Casting his gaze further down, Jim sees the skin around Artemus’ groin is irritated and red from prolonged contact with the urine. His backside isn’t faring any better.

“Alright, Artie, let’s get you upstairs to get cleaned up, then we can find something for you to wear for our ride back to the Wanderer. Most importantly, I’ll get you some water to drink.”

Perhaps if Artemus had any energy to spare, he would be embarrassed, but he shows no shame at the moment. He simply trudges beside Jim, leaning heavily on him as they make their way up the steps to the main level of the house. Dustsheets cover the old furniture, and Jim quickly appropriates one to wrap Artemus in before they venture into the kitchen. Thankfully, the pump still works, offering up cool, clear water. Jim is sure to only give Artemus a bit at a time.

“Remember to pace yourself, Artemus, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I- I know.”

He squirms uncomfortably on occasion, possibly from the pain in his right arm, more likely from the irritation in his groin and rear. _He needs a bath._ There might be a bathtub up on the second floor, but it will take too long to heat and Artemus is a bit too weak to go up another flight of stairs. A fire would also be too conspicuous if anyone were watching the house. _Not that my horse isn’t conspicuous, but smoke is more visible from a distance._ Leaving Artemus’ side temporarily, Jim finds a basin and fills it with water, then cuts a strip of cloth off the dustsheet.

Artemus is seated on the floor, the chairs all busted up by his apparently raucous kidnappers. Jim tries to make light conversation as he prepares, telling his friend, “I was first worried when Dauphin came back to the Wanderer without you two days ago. Buford kicked up a fuss all night… s’pose he missed his partner, too… Of course, he calmed down when Dauphin came back, but then I was the one worried.”

“I’m touched.”

There’s a tinge of sarcasm in Artemus’ voice, but the smirk gracing his lips soothes the sting.

“Well, we both know I’m always worried when you go off on your own,” Jim admits.

“Now you know how I feel, Jim,” he rasps.

Jim brings over the basin, the strip of cloth soaking in the water. Artemus’ brown eyes drop to the basin, color filling his cheeks.

“Jim, is that really something you need to help me with?”

“I think it’ll be easier if I help you. C’mon, Artie, it’s not like we haven’t had to clean each other up before.”

“I know, I know… just-… Jesus, Jim, I- I soiled myself. It’s embarrassing.”

Neither man is a stranger to filth, not between the Civil War and riding days at a time through the wilderness and the various times they’ve been taken prisoner. It’s rare that they have to contend with this sort of filth, however, and Artemus’ clear embarrassment is proof of that. They pride themselves on control. To lose that control in such a fashion as soiling oneself…

“It’s okay, Artemus,” Jim soothes, “There was nothing else you could do, nowhere else you could go… and I don’t mind helping you because I know you’d do the same for me.”

Artemus says nothing. He only takes a slow sip of water, his dark eyes locked onto Jim’s. Finally, he nods, telling Jim, “Just move me how you want me.”

“No, you do what’s comfortable for you.”

His face flushes a brighter red as he lays down on his back, using his good hand to pull the sheet up and over his groin. The skin is still red. Jim knows he can’t be comfortable like this, and his measly strip of fabric isn’t going to be enough. He tells Artemus to cover back up, fetches another couple of dustsheets, returns as quick as he can. He cuts more strips, using one whole sheet and half of another, using its other half to pillow Artemus’ head.

“Just relax, Artie… why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“I was kidnapped.”

“Obviously. Why were you kidnapped?” Jim asks, starting in.

He begins with Artemus’ hips, wanting to start somewhere less intrusive. Brown eyes slip shut. Artemus tells him, “I wish I could say it was all related to my position as a federal agent, but it wasn’t. They were just a bunch of rowdy cowpokes who thought I looked rich.”

“We’ll find them. We’ll bring ‘em to justice.”

“You will. I think I’m out of commission for a bit.”

Jim hums in agreement, keeps cleaning his partner. Artemus still has his eyes closed, and Jim doesn’t blame him. It’s a damn awkward position they’re in. He picks up a fresh cloth, now cleaning Artemus’ thighs, gently nudging them apart. They’re both silent, some kind of strange spell keeping the usually talkative partners from speaking. The act of caring for his partner in such an intimate way feels almost sacred to Jim, as if they’re both being somehow blessed by their vulnerability, both physical and emotional.

Looking to Artemus’ face, Jim sees his eyes still shut, though not tightly. He could be asleep, and Jim might mistake him for such if his throat hadn’t bobbed as he swallowed hard. Unable to avoid it any longer, Jim carefully cleans Artemus’ groin, ignoring the half-hearted stirring of his partner’s cock. _It’s a natural reaction to being touched this way… just happens sometimes…_ Besides, even if he could get it up, Artemus is no condition to do anything about it.

“Okay, Artemus, I need you on your side,” Jim finally says, his voice quiet but sounding far too loud when they’ve been silent for so long.

“I think I can do that myself.”

“With one good arm when you can barely stand? I don’t think so.”

Artemus finally opens his eyes to look at him, whispers, “Please… James,” obviously feeling uncomfortable, but Jim tells him, “Let me help, Artie… I want to help you.”

His eyes are dark and bright, like smoke with the glow of fire barely visible underneath. He wants to argue. Jim can tell his partner wants to argue, but it’s a testament to how poorly Artemus feels that he chooses not to. Helping him over onto his side, Jim runs a soothing hand over Artemus’ shivering flank and murmurs, “Relax, Artie, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

It works. Artemus’ muscles slacken, tension leaving his body.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” Artemus tells him quietly, “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just still so embarrassed…”

“Yeah, I know how you feel. How many times have you had to do something like this for me? When I’ve been hurt and unable to take care of myself… allow me to return the favor.”

Artemus relaxes completely as Jim cards damp fingers through his dark curls before returning to work. A quiet moan drops from Artemus’ lips. _It must feel good… cool water on his itchy skin._ He swipes the cloth over each buttock, sure to clean each one thoroughly before dipping between them. Artemus moans again, shivers, mutters an apology. Jim doesn’t reply. He just finishes what he has to do, empties the basin, and fetches Artemus more water to drink. Color still floods Artemus’ cheeks when he sits up with Jim’s help, cock still half-hard.

“I- I’m sorry, Jim,” he repeats after sipping more water.

Jim shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. It’s natural to-… to react like that when you’re being touched there. I’m not offended. Right now, I’m still figuring out how to get you home.”

The word easily slips past his lips, makes him feel warm and good. He’d never really figured on having a home after the war, just a place to lay his head at night. Now… Now Artemus is home, a stable and wonderful presence that reminds him what’s important.

“Didn’t you bring Dauphin with you?” Artemus queries.

“Actually-… Well- no. I didn’t. I was kinda in a rush to get to you, to find you, so I just saddled Buford and left. Guess I was hopin’ there was someone with you and we could use one of their horses, with or without permission. Didn’t think you’d be alone.”

“They all left early the day before yesterday… think they were spooked by something, so they just abandoned ship. Maybe they thought someone was coming for me so they didn’t free me… or perhaps they simply didn’t care.”

“Well, it’s only a few miles to the Wanderer. I’ll get you up on Buford and walk-“

“I can’t let you walk that far, Jim.”

“We’ve walked farther before.”

“I’ll feel like a damsel in distress riding while you walk.”

“We can’t both walk, Artie… and I’m sure you’ll feel far less like a damsel in distress if we’re not both on the horse. Anyway… wait here. I’ll check and see if there’s any clothes left here that would fit you, and if not, we’ll make due.”

Artemus nods, saying, “I’m not sure you’ll find anything, though. This house has been abandoned for over a decade now. If anything was left behind, it’s probably long gone.”

_Of course he’s right._ The second floor is just as ransacked as the first, nothing of value left behind but furniture that’s too big to abscond with. Jim returns downstairs, sure his expression tells Artemus all he needs to know.

“Suppose I’ll be going _sicut Romanus_ then,” Artemus says, “You don’t know how to wrap a toga, I presume?”

“I believe that’s your area of expertise, Artie… though I think we oughta put that arm in a sling. Would probably be more comforting while riding.”

“You’re probably right, Jim. Would you do me the honor?”

Jim can hear the tinge of fear in Artemus’ voice, the knowledge that moving his arm will be very painful. He’s well acquainted with that fear himself. Pulling out his knife once more, Jim cuts a large square from one of the remaining dustsheets. Artemus knows what to do, thankfully, so they don’t have to talk. It allows Jim to work as quickly as possible, briefly carding his fingers through Artemus’ hair to comfort him. Artemus does allow a couple quiet whimpers past his lips, teeth gritted. _I’m sorry, Artie._

After a couple minutes, Artemus’ arm is in the proper position, and Jim makes quick work of the sling. Artemus then directs him in draping the sheet around him like a toga.

“Getting up in the saddle will certainly be interesting,” Artemus muses.

“Thankfully, Buford is a very talented horse. C’mon, I’ll help you out…”

He sits Artemus on the porch step and calls Buford, the black gelding coming over, dark eyes blinking and curious. With a few hand signals, Jim gets Buford to lay down, more easily allowing Artemus to mount, and once he’s settled, a few simple clicks gets Buford to stand. Jim looks ahead, adjusts his hat, and starts walking toward home.

They’re quiet for a long while, just enjoying nature and each other. It’s still hot, but the temperature is becoming more comfortable as the day wears on. Sweat covers Jim’s face, rolls down his back and torso, soaks his shirt. Both men are in desperate need of a bath when they return to the Wanderer. _That’s still a couple hours away._ Above him, Artemus lets out a hoarse laugh, prompting Jim to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking how ridiculous we look… how ridiculous I look. If anyone were to happen upon us now, I honestly have no idea what they would think is going on.”

“Hardly think this is the strangest thing anyone’s ever seen out here. We can always just say you got lost and got drunk and lost your clothes somewhere. I had to come retrieve my wayward friend and bring him home.”

Artemus hums pleasantly, says, “Home… Used to be home was wherever I laid my head. Never thought I would have a place to call home, let alone- well… it’s nice.”

Jim doesn’t ask what Artemus was about to say. _If he’d wanted to say it, he would’ve said it._ They just keep moving, occasionally talking, Jim ignoring the soreness in his legs and feet. A bit of Artemus’ magic oil will fix him up pretty well.

“They’ll probably give you a temporary partner, Jim.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks at least. If anything comes up, you’re probably going to be paired with a temporary partner… probably Pike.”

“Pike’s alright, I suppose… but he’s not you, Artemus.”

The words just slip out, the truth flowing free. There’s a chuckle above him, and Artemus agrees, “James, you’ve never spoken truer words, my boy.”

Warmth spreads through Jim’s chest at the familiar endearment. The two partners fall silent again, slowly making their way back to the train. By the time they’re home, the sun is just dipping below the horizon. Artemus dismounts by way of the steps into the parlor, stumbling over and collapsing on the couch. Jim works quickly to get Buford groomed and bedded down before returning to his partner. He checks on Artemus, then prepares a bath, choosing to use the tub in the stateroom often used for dignitaries for its size and easier access.

“My dear boy, you’re an angel,” Artemus groans as he lowers himself into the hot water.

“That’s not usually what you call me.”

“Today it’s deserved.”

His dark eyes slip shut, a look of pleasure crossing his features. Jim just watches him, waiting to see if he’ll need help.

“Oh, just get in here, Jim.”

“What?”

Eyes still closed, Artemus tells him, “Get in here. I can feel you watching me, and besides, this is hardly the first time we’ll have bathed together, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

The stateroom tub is certainly big enough for both of them, something they know from experience, and Jim has never been one to deny Artemus’ requests. He swiftly strips out of his dirty, dusty clothes to join Artemus, letting out a groan of his own as the heat seeps into his sore muscles. The partners have no compunctions with intimacy. They’ve held each other and healed each other and cried with each other and comforted each other after nightmares. There’s nothing really that one man doesn’t know about the other.

After a brief rest, Jim scrubs both of them clean, careful with Artemus’ injured shoulder, and when that’s done he simply pulls Artemus close, the men pressed chest-to-back. It’s only in moments like this that Jim will drop his usual strong and unemotional demeanor. He drops his voice low, lips close to Artemus’ ear, and tells him, “I was very worried, Artie.”

Dark curls brush Jim’s ear. He settles a hand on Artemus’ chest right over his heart, taking comfort from the steady beat.

“And I was afraid… James, I was very afraid. I didn’t want to die alone in that cellar.”

Jim’s fingers twitch against Artemus’ chest, and Artemus settles closer against Jim’s.

“I would never let that happen. Never.”

“I know, my dear boy. I know that.”

They remain there in the tub until the water begins to cool. Jim gets out first, fetches two towels, helps Artemus out of the tub. They dry off and retire to their sleeping quarters, both pressing together in Jim’s bunk, Jim careful not to jostle Artemus’ bad shoulder. Artemus sits propped up with pillows from his own bunk, having turned down a dose of morphine for now. Jim simply sits by him in comfortable silence.

“Go to sleep, Jim.”

He blinks, looks to Artemus. His partner repeats, “Go to sleep. You keep nodding off.”

“I don’t want you to feel alone again.”

“I won’t. Not with you sleeping right here. Sleep, dear boy… sleep.”

His fingers card through Jim’s hair, and Jim almost purrs. A quiet laugh rumbles through Artemus’ chest. Warm fingers slip down to trace Jim’s spine. Struck by a sudden urge, Jim presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Artemus’ mouth and nestles close, head under his chin. Artemus wraps his arm around him. It’s comforting. _He’s safe. He’s here. He’s home._

“Forgive me for being a bit maudlin, Jim… but earlier when we spoke of home… I never expected I would find home with a person… and I didn’t want to die without seeing home one more time.”

“I love you too, Artie.”

They’re closer than friends, closer than brothers, closer than lovers. Whatever it is they are, Jim is glad for it, and there’s no other home he’d like to have. The warmth surrounding them both finally lulls Jim into a peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> bonus points if you know why the horses are named that (because I'm pretty sure the horses never had names in the show?)
> 
> ~~also there may be some smut coming in the near future if you're into that sort of thing~~


End file.
